


it's not the end of us, my dear

by belovedyuuri (belovedstill)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Communication, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Healthy Relationships, In a way, M/M, Missing Scene, they love each other and I love them so of course they end up talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 18:12:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15345627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedstill/pseuds/belovedyuuri
Summary: "Let's end this," Yuuri said, and the whole fandom collectively cried.or: a missing scene from the anime thatshouldhave been there because I refuse to accept that Yuuri and Viktor went an entire day being so cold and distant towards each other.





	it's not the end of us, my dear

**Author's Note:**

> Word of advice to my future self: you won't start writing anything until you actually open the doc and start typing, friend, just saying. When I actually followed that advice, I _enjoyed_ the process. Wow, who could imagine, right? :D
> 
> written for Day 3: Missing Moments for the Autotelēs theme week organised by [We Write Victuuri](https://wewritevictuuri.tumblr.com/post/174786967171/wewritevictuuri-the-gif-was-created-by-the) on tumblr c:
> 
> thank you to my lovely beta, [Emma](http://and-then-yoi-happened.tumblr.com) who made the fic nicer to read <3 You're a gem!

“After the final, let's end this.”

It's been hours since he said those words. Hours since he thanked Viktor for everything he'd done for him, for coaching him and believing in his abilities. Hours since Viktor excused himself and left, giving a moment of solitude as an excuse. And Yuuri—well… Yuuri has always understood how important peace is, especially in moments like this. So he let Viktor go, hasn’t really moved from his spot on the bed since Viktor put his clothes on and left the room.

“I don't regret my decision,” he reminds himself, lying on his side and looking with unseeing eyes at the black screen of his phone.

Viktor  _ cried _ .

“I don't—”

_ He _ made Viktor  _ cry _ .

Yuuri shuts his eyes and rolls onto his stomach, pushes his face against his pillow.

Why would Viktor react this way to Yuuri’s plan to retire? Doesn't he understand, as a competitor himself, that retiring in such a good place is better for everybody involved? Yuuri's come so far, he's redeemed himself already, no matter how his free skate goes the day after tomorrow. He doesn't want to mess with his luck.

Why then? Why does his heart feel so heavy in his chest, pulling him into the bed, towards the ground, like gravity? Why is his head full of images of Viktor’s eyes tearing up, his perfect face marred with an angry frown?

They didn't scream—they didn't even argue, not really. Viktor took a breath and looked away, and didn't look at Yuuri again, even when he informed him he was going out to get some fresh air, the finished sentence cold where he’d usually offer for Yuuri to accompany him.

“Let's end this.”

By  _ this _ , he didn't mean  _ everything _ .

But it’s been so long now that Viktor left. It was already dark when he left, now with every minute Yuuri’s body curls in on itself.

He was tired earlier but now he can’t even think of going to sleep; not like this, not alone.

I should call him, he thinks. He  _ wants _ to call him. But is he even allowed to do that when he’s the reason Viktor left in the first place? Worry squeezes at his heart, merciless, nearly cutting the air from his lungs.

It’s nearly 1 AM now, it’s been hours, they’re in a foreign country—what if something happened?

Now that this thought has entered Yuuri’s head, he can’t think of anything else. Is Barcelona known for mugging? Are the streets safe? Isn’t Spain known for mafia? No, it’s Italy, these are two different countries.

Would anybody know to contact Yuuri if Viktor was hurt?

It’s that thought that makes Yuuri grab his phone and unlock it with his password on the first—no, second—on the  _ third _ try because he can’t get the code right fast enough.

_ Viktor? _ He types and hovers his thumb over the ‘send’ button. Usually, Viktor doesn’t mind if Yuuri sends multiple messages one after the other—but he  _ was _ upset when he left.

Yuuri drops the hand clutching his phone on his bed and stares at the ceiling. Maybe Viktor doesn’t even want to hear from him?

No, he thinks, forehead furrowed and chest heavy with worry. No, he won’t let himself be talked out of this.

He looks at his phone again, the cursor blinking after Viktor’s name, and types more:

_ Are you alright? Please let me know you’re safe. I’m sorry _

Sent. And then, after a second of fretful hesitation:

_ I love you _

Just when the message is shown as received, there’s a quick  _ beep! _ of the door being unlocked with a pass card, but the handle doesn’t turn.

Yuuri sits up and looks at his phone. On the screen, the messages are shown as  _ read _ .

For the next minute, nothing happens. Yuuri stares at the screen and then at the door, waiting for... anything. Shoulders tense, spine straight, he sits there and mentally urges the handle to move or the ellipsis to appear on the screen, signifying a soon-to-come message.

_ Beep! _ and the door opens, slowly.

Viktor’s hair looks damp, though it’s impossible it’s still wet from his shower earlier. It must have started raining or snowing while he was away—and of course Viktor forgot to take an umbrella with him. It’s a miracle he remembered his card.

“Are you okay?” Yuuri asks before he can wonder if he’s even allowed—because Viktor has gone out, without a hat over his shower-warmed, wet head, during winter, and god, if he catches a cold...

Viktor nods, says a soft, “Yeah,” as though he cannot muster enough energy to pronounce the ‘s’ in the word. And maybe he can’t, if the way his shoulders are slumped says anything. He closes the door and unwraps the scarf from around his neck, hangs it on the coat rack and covers it with his coat. Yuuri’s fingers itch to hang the coat on another hanger; the scarf is probably as damp as Viktor’s hair.

Viktor looks at his phone again and then, for the first time since he came back, he lets his eyes meet Yuuri’s—and finally,  _ finally _ , a small part in Yuuri feels calmer.

“Does it mean...?” Viktor doesn’t finish the question, but he doesn’t need to do that. Yuuri knows what he means very well.

He braces himself and, as gently as he can, he shakes his head. “No,” he whispers, eyes lowering on their own. “I didn’t change my decision.” Viktor’s sigh heaves on his soul when he hears it. “But I mean everything I wrote. I  _ am _ sorry.”

Viktor’s frowning at his phone when Yuuri dares to glance at him again. He types something fast, rereads it, then—

_ I love you too _ , reads a new message from Viktor. Yuuri’s entire body sags in relief.

They’ve been together for months now but the fear that feelings are fleeting and can disappear at the slightest inconvenience remains, clinging to Yuuri’s every thought whenever he and Viktor don’t work perfectly, whenever they disagree on something big—or small—or when one of them goes one step too far with a teasing joke.

It’s a constant worry of  _ Is this going to be the end of us? _ , irrational and illogical, born despite Yuuri  knowing better.

“You were upset,” Yuuri says softly, looking up from his phone. Viktor’s made his way to the other side of his bed.

“I’m still upset,” Viktor corrects, and for a second the words reopen the door for the fear to seep back in. “We can talk about it.”

Yuuri squares his shoulders. “It’s my de—“

“I know.”

They both are quiet for a moment. Viktor takes his sweater and trousers off and Yuuri doesn’t look away from him, can’t afford to. When Viktor gets on the bed and sits there with his legs crossed, his whole body is facing Yuuri.

“It’s my decision, too,” he says, and before Yuuri can react in any way, he adds, “Whether I return to the ice or not.”

A different kind of anxiety pokes at Yuuri’s lungs. “But you—“

_ But you are Viktor Nikiforov. _

_ But you are a world champion. _

_ But when you skate, you take my breath away. _

_ But the world would mourn you. _

“But I,” Viktor cuts in again, a frustrating habit most of the time, “haven’t enjoyed skating in a long time, and it only changed when I started coaching you.”

That Viktor wasn’t inspired, he knows. But this...? Yuuri has never heard about it before.

Viktor offers Yuuri his hands, palms up, elbows on his knees. Yuuri shifts on his bed so he’s mirroring Viktor’s position and only then does he put his own hands in Viktor’s, the ring on Viktor’s finger reflecting the warm glow of the bedside lamp. He can’t help but squeeze their hold.

“I want you to keep skating,” Yuuri whispers to Viktor’s right hand, chest tight with the idea of losing that one constant in his life.

“And I want  _ you _ to keep skating,” Viktor murmurs and Yuuri can’t help but give a humourless little laugh.

“Maybe we’re both selfish.”

Viktor squeezes his hand. “Yuuri,” he says, waiting for Yuuri to look up at him. “I was angry, I didn’t mean to say that.”

Yuuri himself knows a thing or two about saying things without meaning to under the influence of his emotions. Who’s he to judge others for acting exactly the same way he does?

“I know you didn’t,” he says eventually.

The tension seems to be slowly seeping out of the room, through the cracks under the door, the windows, the power sockets. It’s a slow process but more and more air reaches into Yuuri’s lungs with every breath now, the fog in his mind dissipating as they sit in silence for minutes or hours—he can’t tell; time passes so fast when they’re holding onto each other, hand in hand and knees resting against each other.

Yuuri frees one of his hands from the hold and curls it around Viktor’s right one. With a gentle pull, he cradles it in both of his hands and rests it in the space of his lap.

“Will you think about it?” he asks after a while, his heart calm for the first time in several hours as he plays with Viktor’s fingers. His thumb rubs circles against the golden band on Viktor’s ring finger, eyes fixed on it. It looks beautiful, like it’s always belonged there.

He chose well.

“Will  _ you _ ?”

Yuuri smiles at that and looks up, just in time to see Viktor’s eyes warm up as they fleet to meet his.

“Viktor.”

Viktor’s smiling now, too. “What?” he asks, pretending defensiveness and innocence at the same time. On anybody else’s face, it wouldn’t work.

Yuuri shakes his head with a soft snort and lifts Viktor’s hand, pressing a brief kiss to his knuckles. “We’re quite a pair, I guess.”

Viktor breathes in deeply through his nose, a sharp little sound similar to a gasp, like every time Yuuri does anything even remotely—romantic, gentle to him. In the next moment, Viktor’s cradling Yuuri’s face in his hands, their foreheads pressed together, thumbs caressing Yuuri’s cheekbones.

“Tell you what,” Viktor says, his voice close to a murmur now, beautiful and rich and smooth like hot chocolate, and Yuuri wants to listen to his words for the rest of his life. “I  _ will _ think about it. We will both think about it. And we’ll talk about it again—“ He kisses Yuuri’s right cheek. “—from the beginning—“ His lips brush against Yuuri’s left cheek now. “—properly and respectfully—“ One final kiss on the tip of Yuuri’s nose. “—both ready and on the same page, after the Final.” He leans away, just several inches, but several inches too many. “How does that sound?”

Yuuri thinks back to how lonely and cold he felt just an hour ago, lying on the bed, the world of dark thoughts pressing him into the mattress—and shakes it off, away, out of his head.

They’re stronger together; they’re better as a team. Even if in two days they decide against what they hope for each other, they’ll be alright.

He has his answer.

With a swift move, Yuuri closes the distance between them and presses his lips against Viktor’s, arms resting on the broad shoulders, bracing him. The kiss is short, maybe too short, but that’s okay, there’s more to come—right now Yuuri wraps his arms around Viktor’s neck and leans close, closer, face pressed against the place where Viktor’s pulse point sings the sweetest melodies into his ear.

“Sounds perfect.”

That night, nobody falls asleep alone.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading <3 find me on [tumblr](http://belovedyuuri.tumblr.com/) and go to sleep if it's late, buddy, you deserve some rest


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